


Delusions of Grandeur

by misfitcutie



Series: Forced Delusions [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (Comics), Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989)
Genre: Alcohol, College, Gen, Manic Episode, Paranoia, Self-Harm, Slice of Life, Suicidal Tendencies, minor gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitcutie/pseuds/misfitcutie
Summary: Egon tries to escape back to academia but his demons are determined to follow him and destroy the people closest to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's Peter and Egon meeting in college. I'm pretty sure you've read this before.

#### Fall 1968

Finals were looming closer but Egon still wasn’t accustomed to the new university. He had barely come out of Senn with his doctorate the semester before; now, he was barely making it through undergrad classes again. He was second-guessing his choice to move on. 

He felt lost. Unable to stay in a position at his university, he decided to move back home. Luckily, that _thing_ hadn’t shown its face since the incident with the particle thrower. Unfortunately, it was replaced by his father, and in his opinion, Egon was God’s greatest disappointment. He was supposed to be a prodigy not “detached from reality”. Sure, he had earned his doctorate at age 23, but his mental state was declared “unstable” on a narrow basis by a psychologist and family friend. 

His only escape was academia. Well, it was his only option. His parents had promised that they would support him only if he was enrolled in classes. So, Egon had packed up and moved from the Midwest to the big city of New York. He had hoped the drastic change in scenery would help him move on, but it just made him homesick for something unknown. 

“Just to recap-” Egon jerked awake, “-The draft is due next week. I really just want to see an introduction, a participant’s section, and a materials section. The rest can just be an outline. I don’t really expect you to have all your data collected by then. Have you guys found your partners?” Had he slept through the entire lab? He couldn’t tell, his mind was blank. He couldn’t remember how he got to class. 

“Spen… Spengler? Is that right? Have you got a partner or are you working alone?” The graduate student gave him a worried look. Egon was practically invisible in class, the AI almost felt sorry for him. “Egon?” He jerked up again. He wanted to work on the article alone, he’d look at the syllabus later. The words just didn’t come. 

“I ain’t got a partner, I’ll work with him.” 

Egon raked his fingers through his short curls. No, no, no. No. This is not what he needed right now. He usually did most of the work in group settings but doubted he could pull a someone else through a project with a passing grade, let alone himself. It was the end of the semester and he was underperforming. 

The graduate student looked back to the attendance list, “Well, that worked out perfectly. Everyone’s accounted for. You are dismissed, but if you’d like to stay I can help you with any questions.” By the time he finished his sentence, half the class was out the door. Egon’s unsolicited partner approached him. He felt a mixture of anger and guilt, mostly towards himself. He was stuck in a cycle of stress and there wasn’t anything to do about it. Now his poor performance would be reflected on another student. 

“Hey, are you in there? Let’s go.” Egon succumbed to the situation, his mind was numb and he couldn’t rescind the offer of partnership. He slowly gathered his things and stood up. He pulled on his coat and twisted a soft scarf around his neck and face. He pulled a well-worn leather messenger bag across his shoulders. He stared down at his partner’s sneakers. They looked as if they’d fall apart any minute. Combined with his ragged jeans, Egon didn’t expect much from him. 

“You hungry? There’s a great place a couple blocks off campus.” 

Egon squirmed under his ill-fitting sweaters. 

“C’mon. It shouldn’t be too busy.” 

Egon looked up enough to see the other man’s chest. He was wearing a tee shirt and a light coat; both unsuitable for the weather. His partner took the small gesture as acceptance and turned to leave. Egon followed reluctantly. This could not end well. 

* * *

The shushing of the morning snow was calming. They navigated the icy sidewalks and curbs built-up with slush. Egon felt lucky to have a good pair of boots. They ducked into a corner store diner. His glasses fogged up as he tapped his boots off on the rug. The waitress behind the counter recited a greeting script and told them to sit wherever. The restaurant was fairly empty. His classmate was right, it seemed to be between the breakfast and lunch rush. They took the booth closest to the restrooms and just past the last window. It was out of the way, almost hidden, and a little dark. Egon piled his jacket and bag next to him but kept his scarf in his lap, twisting the tassels between his fingers. His partner threw his bag down and took a seat. 

He was sure his classmate had tried to speak to him on the walk there, but he hadn’t caught any of it. He felt bad but was unsure how to aid the situation. The waiter approached their table, “What can I start you off with to drink?” Egon kept his head down. He could feel that he was being stared at before his partner answered, “How about some coffee?” Egon cleared his throat, “Coffee would be fine. Thank you.” The effort to speak was tremendous. 

“Would you guys like cream and sugar?” 

“Please.” The waitress sauntered off to the kitchen. 

Egon opened his bag, pulled out a writing pad and folder, then dropped a couple pens on top. His peer did the same, sort of. He dug through his bag and pulled out a handful of wrinkled papers, then asked to borrow a pen. 

The waitress came back. She silently slid the mugs, sugar jar, and creamer on the table then filled the mugs with a carafe, “Are you guys ready to order?” Egon only shook his head. His partner spoke up, “I think we’ll pass for now.” She returned to her script, “Alright, if you need anything just holler,” and walked back behind the counter to make idle chat at the bar. 

Egon was starting to feel bad about the one-sidedness of the relationship. He had a hard time with new people, especially in a new place. He was used to having Eugene as a chaperone. Eugene was the mediator between him and the world. His peer sipped his coffee before adding a couple heaps of sugar. “It’s Egon, right?” 

Egon nodded. Rolling back his shoulders and wiggled in his seat in an attempt to get more comfortable. Egon held his drink between his hands, the warmth was comforting. He picked it up and took a few drinks. He wished he could hide behind it, but took a chance and glanced up at his partner. Brown curls hung close to his neck and framed his face. He was clearly younger than him by a few years. 

“I’m Peter by the way. Peter Venkman.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* _oh my god they were roommates_
> 
> Egon learns that he isn't the only one experiencing issues on the mental plane. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for alcohol, mania, and self-harm.
> 
> And for reference, Peter would be a sophomore and Egon would have senior standing.

#### Fall 1969

 

> _Expand.        Contract._
> 
> _Expand.       Contract._
> 
> _Expand.      Contract._  
>    
>  _Lightning raced across his skin and down his fingertips. Thunder rolled through his bones and shook the floor. A storm was brewing in the hollowness of his chest in the most terrifying and beautiful way. Every atom in his composition was singing in unison, in unearthly chords not meant to be known by man._  
>    
>  _Expand.     Contract._
> 
> _Expand.    Contract._
> 
> _Expand.   Contract._  
>    
>  _The darkness collapsed, with it his lungs. He thought he’d suffocate. Maybe he’d meet God. Maybe he was God. The way the ceiling swirled made it feel like it. His fingers dug into the carpet, sweat soaked the remains of his clothes._  
>    
>  _Expand.  Contract._
> 
> _Expand. Contract._
> 
> _ExpandContract._  
>    
>  _With a bang, he remembered how to breathe. An immovable object had met an unstoppable force, a new universe was born kicking and screaming and flying towards infinity and it had all come from within him. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he choked on stars. He wasn’t worthy of the knowledge he had been blessed with. He wasn’t built to witness the beginning of the end. His soul shattered. Part of him was twisted half in half out. A half pace behind him, looming over his shoulder._

* * *

Egon shuffled into the tiny apartment kitchen. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and readjusted his pyjama bottoms quiet ungraciously. He pulled the coffee machine away from the wall, grabbed the carafe and filled it from the sink. He had gotten up earlier than usual. Well, given up, really. He had slept poorly because of Peter. He seemed to be up all night. There had been sounds of chatting, music, and furniture moving periodically.  
  
Egon poured water into the machine and filled it with coffee. He was making it strong.  
  
They had decided to live together after sharing their psych class. They weren’t too close, some days they didn’t even see each other, but sharing a space was comforting in a way. Splitting the rent wasn’t bad either. Sometimes, Peter could be a handful, but it was better than living on his own. Even though Egon enjoyed his privacy, he was glad to have someone around. Somehow, some way, they were able to tolerate each other. He still missed Eugene, but had come to terms with the loss.  
  
He decided to prepare breakfast while waiting for the coffee to drip. He turned to grab a dirty pan from the sink but noticed there was none. In fact, there were no dirty dishes. The skillet was set out on the stove and the plates and mugs were in the dish rack. This came as a surprise as Peter vehemently refused to do the washing the on several occasions.  
  
He opened the fridge to grab eggs and butter but came across another surprise. The refrigerator had been cleaned and every item rearranged. Curious, he opened the freezer to find the same scenario. He turned around to survey the rest of the kitchen, only now seeing that it was spotless. Just under the smell of the fresh coffee was the tinge of bleach. Even the grout had been scrubbed.  
  
Forgoing breakfast, he walked back into the living space. It looked relatively clean, obviously lived in, but it hadn’t received the same attention as the kitchen. He started to ask more serious questions when he looked over the couch. There was a series of psychology texts spread from the cushions to the coffee table and to the floor. There were also several empty beer cans on the table. This had been where Egon left Peter last night. He said he was studying late, but it seemed odd that anyone would choose to sanitise an entire kitchen instead of getting caught up on reading assignments.  
  
His eyes rested on Peter’s bedroom door. Even though he wanted answers, Egon decided to wait. It was still early and didn’t want to wake him. He went back to kitchen for a cup of coffee before going back to his room to grab some clothes. He picked out an older pair of jeans and a button-down with obnoxious, vertical stripes. It was the weekend, he didn’t need to look nice. He threw the clothes over his shoulder and sipped on his coffee. Before moving to the bathroom, he remembered a pair of underwear. A morning shower would be refreshing after the night he had.  
  
He turned the knob but the door wouldn’t budge. He turned back and sat his mug on the coffee table before trying again. With a little more force, the door cracked open. The lights inside were on. He reached down and forced his hand through the opening, feeling around for anything in the way. He grabbed hold of a towel and ripped it out from underneath the door. It was cold and damp. It must have fallen off the hook. He pushed the door open and threw it in the sink before going back for his coffee.  
  
He took another drink from the mug and then dropped it. It shattered against the warped laminate floor of the bathroom adding the destruction before him. Medicine bottles and various items littered the floor. Shredded toilet paper was overflowing from the bin. Another towel was tossed over the side of the bathtub, also soaking wet. The tub was full of water, any more and it would overflow. That must’ve been why the towel was on the floor. But that didn’t explain the water or why there was blood smeared on the shower walls. Peter could be a mess sometimes but…this?  
  
Egon immediately pounded his fist against Peter’s door. His chest tightened up, unsure what emotions were trying to surface. He pounded again, “Peter!” There was a slam from the other side of the door. Egon jumped back to see that whatever was thrown, was thrown hard enough to make the hollow core door splinter outward. They weren’t getting their security deposit back.  
  
“Peter?” Egon pushed on the door. It, too, was jammed. “Peter, are you alright?”  
  
No answer.  
  
He picked at the splinters, trying to see through the hole. Whatever disaster struck the bathroom, must have struck Peter’s bedroom as well. His mattress was off the frame and up against the lone window, blocking any light. The room was lit by his desk lamp, which was still on his desk. Just the desk was now in the middle of the room. He sat there, striking away on his typewriter.  
  
Egon called with more force, “Peter?” His only response was holding up his index finger for a moment of pause.  
  
Egon tried anger, “Venkman, what are you doing?” Peter shot up from his seat, throwing it backwards and onto the floor. “What am _I_ doing? What the hell are _you_ doing? Are you watching me?” He rushed up to the door and Egon stepped back. Peter must have pulled another chair out from under the handle and tossed it aside. The door flew open, the knob busted into the wall holding it there. Egon flinched from the sudden sound. He held his arms over his face and took another step back. His classmate was seething. Now in the light, it was easy to see the Peter hadn’t slept at all. His eyes were bloodshot and blackened, his face was shadowed with stubble, and his hair was a dishevelled mess. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a single sock. The other one was tied on his left arm. His expression changed from rage to confusion before covering his face with his hands and groaning.  
  
He leaned against the door and slid down, “What the hell?”  
  
Egon dropped his arms and stared at his roommate completely dumbfounded. Looking past him and into his room, there were more discarded cans. An empty bottle of scotch was on the dresser. Papers were scattered around the desk, some typed on, others crumpled into wads.  
  
He hadn’t known Peter for long, or well at all. He was quiet about anything too personal, especially his past. He could still tell this was wildly out of character. He crouched down and tentatively reached out a hand, but Peter smacked him away. He pulled his legs in closer and violently scratched his scalp, “Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me,” he hissed, “Just stop.”  
  
Egon blinked a few times and waited a few seconds before responding, "Do you need help?”  
  
“You _can’t_ ,” His voice was muffled by his arms, “I just have to ride it out.”  
  
Ride what out?  
  
"This has happened before?” Egon inched closer.  
  
“It’s been a while,” Peter scooted back and snapped, “Why do you care?”  
  
He paused to think about the question. The option to ignore his roommate was there. He could’ve gone back to his room, dressed himself, and spent the day working on assignments. It certainty would have been easier. But, he was here, sitting on the floor with him. He was actually concerned.  
  
“I value your presence.” Egon was unsure of the proper definition of their relationship, it’s limits, or how his roommate felt about him.  
  
Peter finally looked up and gave him a strange look, “That’s nice. Now, if you don’t mind, you’ll leave me alone,” He crawled back into his room and started trying to tug the door from the wall.  
  
“Peter, wait,” Egon stood up and held the door, his clothes finally dropping to the floor.  
  
Peter bared his teeth, “Stay away from me,”  
  
Egon took another step forward and Peter bolted across the room. He dug through the mess and presented a baseball bat. He took a defensive stance, “I mean it!”  
  
Egon was shocked. He wanted to help, but in this state if he tried anything else he would feel like a hypocrite. Physically, Peter seemed okay for now.  
  
“Alright,” he wasn’t sure what to say and repeated a canned response, “If you need anything, I’ll be here.” Peter only stared back, unmoving and on guard. Egon gave the door a yank and pulled it shut. He waited a moment before moving. The bat dropped to the floor and he heard a sound that could’ve been a stifled sob. He picked his clothes up off the floor and went back to his own room.  
  
He took off his pyjamas and tossed them on the bed. He thought about everything Eugene had done wrong to help him. He didn’t like to think about Eugene in a bad light, but he approached ‘issues’ like this in a terrifying way. Egon still stood by the fact that he himself didn’t have issues, just those appointed to him by others who refused to listen. He had gotten better since he stopped taking his prescriptions again. He finished dressing and pulled on socks and shoes.  
  
On his way back to the kitchen he picked up the beer cans from the coffee table and tossed them into the bin. He poured himself a new cup of coffee and leaned back against the counter, contemplating what to do. Egon already struggled with basic social interactions and this situation was unpredictable. He couldn’t fully relate. Should he try to approach his roommate again, or should he just ignore him as asked? Egon would’ve preferred being alone, but he knew Peter’s needs were different.  
  
He sighed and decided to tackle the mess. He began by re-shelving the books in the living space, but didn’t get far. They had been bookmarked in sections relating to major depressive disorder and manic depression. He sunk into the couch, pulled into the material, and started searching for answers.  
  
Peter came out of his room. Still, dishevelled, but dressed. Egon watched him as he went into the kitchen but hid inside a book when he came back with a bowl of cereal. He switched on the television before sitting on the other side of the couch. It crackled with electricity and the tubes hummed before the picture formed. It wasn’t often that they caught the morning news.  
  
Egon gave him a quick glance then closed the text and finished shelving. In the bathroom, he picked up and discarded the larger pieces of ceramic from his mug. He mopped up the smaller chips and dried coffee with the towel from the sink. He salvaged some bandages from the floor. It was a scavenger hunt to find the antibiotic ointment and hydrogen peroxide. He set them on the vanity before pulling the plug from the tub drain. He picked up the first aid supplies and re-entered the living area. He stood there awkwardly, unsure what to say.  
  
Peter set his empty bowl on the side table, “You’re watching me again.”  
  
Egon cautiously approached him and set the materials onto the table, “I’d like to take a look at your arm. Would you allow me?”  
  
He scratched at the sock tied around his arm, “Whatever.”  
  
Egon sat on the coffee table in front of him. Peter looked everywhere but him. Egon carefully tried to untie the makeshift bandage but it wasn’t going to be painless.  
  
“This might hurt.”  
  
“Hold on,” Peter held his breath and ripped it off himself. There was a cut diagonally down his forearm, thankfully away from his wrist. The fabric had dried to it though and the force of taking off the sock caused it to reopen. “Ow! That was- Ow!” he pressed the sock back on the cut. Egon went back to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth and cotton pads. Sitting back down, he replaced the sock in Peter’s hand with the washcloth then prepared the hydrogen peroxide. While waiting for the bleeding to stop he took a chance at conversation.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
A couple minutes passed with advertisements dominating the air.  
  
Peter sighed and tossed the bloodied rag to the table, “You’re gonna think I’m insane.”  
  
Egon looked at him over his glasses with a cocked eyebrow, “I’m formally diagnosed ‘insane’. There’s nothing you can say to me that’ll be shocking or off-putting.” He dabbed a soaked cotton pad on the cut. Peter hissed and jerked his arm back as it fizzed.  
  
“Trust me,” Egon waited for him to relax again, then placed dry cotton down the line. He started wrapping the bandage down his arm. Peter was trying to ground himself with slow and deep breaths.  
  
“It feels like the universe is expanding under my lungs,” quietly, he continued “And that I’m exhaling stars,” In truth, he reeked heavily of the alcohol that he binged on, “I thought if I…” he trailed off then sighed, “I just wanted it out of my system.”

Peter stared out the window into the city below. They were both used to the sunrise sparkling over golden fields and short hills, and yet the sunrise over the adjacent buildings and already busy streets was breath-taking in its own way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, that big, blue devil hasn't shown his face in a while. I wonder what he's up to? Oh. Oops.

#### Fall 1969

 _The tall man fixed our wound. The tall man fixed our bed. The tall man cleaned our mess. What does the tall man want?_  

 _Jesus Christ, his_ name  _is Egon. At least call him that and not this cryptic bullshit. He's not even that tall. We're the same height._  

 _He wants to live in peace._ You  _are not peace._ You  _are chaos._  

 _What the hell is that supposed to mean? We barely know this guy. And it's not me, it's_ you _!_  

 _Who am I but_ you _?_  

 _Shut up! Shut up! "Shut up!"_   

 _Sweat washed over him. The madness in his head ebbed at the shore of his conscious. It was receding, but it was a fight not to jump back in. He was reluctant to agree that it had a point. What did_ he  _want? He kept watching. What was he going to do? Would he tell anyone? Why did he say he was insane? He doesn't know insane._ This  _was insane. Insane was fighting the stupid dialogue in your head while picking out your hair. Insane was hallucinating an orange glow from your closet._  

 _Uh._  

 _He wasn't supposed to hallucinate._  

 _He wasn't supposed to be this bad._  

_The closet door silently glided open. The contents were gone.  Inside was an orange_ _light, it was vibrant but somehow dark. It swirled around just like the popcorn ceiling. It was terrifying and captivating._

_He sat up. He wanted to get up and look at it, but he knew it was just a trick. It wasn't real. It couldn’t be. Neither could the creature pulling its way up out of light. He felt light-headed. What the hell was he on? It looked like the devil was putting on a magic act with that tailcoat. The whispers came back, louder this time._

_Please come back. Please._  

 _You know too much to go back._  

 _It feels so good._  

 _You'll be so much happier._  

 _"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"_  

_He was pulled back into his sheets. They were like tendrils in the darkness holding him down. His eyes were forced open like that damn Kubrick movie. He hated that movie. He couldn't sit through it, it made his skin crawl. The very core of his being trembled as the creature crept toward the foot of his bed._

"Peter, are you alright?" Egon cracked open the bedroom door. He'd heard his roommate shout a few times. He felt bad for intruding but knew he'd feel even worse if Peter hurt himself again.  

Peter was laying on his back, completely still. Egon pushed the door open a little more and flicked the light switch, which turned on the bedside lamp. Peter had his sheets balled in his fists, he looked paralysed and in pain.  

Egon’s stomach dropped. He gripped the doorframe for support as he was overcome with vertigo. The bedside lamp came crashing to the floor. Egon forced himself to look up. Papers, books, bottles- everything was sliding and falling. The floor was no longer down. The room’s dimension had warped and twisted, the pinnacle being the closet. That bastard. With white knuckles and gritted teeth, Egon growled, "Stay away from him." 

The high-pitched cackling in his head bubbled up, "Oh, Egon! Oh! I can't help myself. You've brought me something so very tasty. He's so  _paranoid_. He's so scared of his own head! Just look at him!” The light from the closet flared, washing the room in warm light. Peter was now limp in his bed, sweating, eyes open and rolled back.  

The voice echoing in his head pressed on, “How about you come a little closer?”  

The room tilted forward again. Peter started sliding. 

“No!” Egon lunged towards him in a futile attempt to grab him. The room tilted again, now completely vertical. Egon lost his footing. It was a short fall into the portal to God-knows-where. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot more planned, don't worry. What I have though got waaaaay too long so "Delusions of Grandeur" is going to have one last chapter before moving on to "Delusions of Hope".
> 
> (also special shout out to the most beautiful girl in the world for getting me open up about this again)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Egon, pointing to Peter: This is my emotional support freshman.  
> Me: That's nice.  
> Me: * _ **YEETS ******_ ** **Peter into hell*****

######  The Door

Egon woke with a start. He sat up in bed; his bedroom dark and cramped. He hastily grabbed the square alarm clock off his nightstand. 

12:30. 

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was a dream. He counted the seconds in his head. The acrylic numbers flipped. 

12:30. 

The hair on his arms stood on end; his sympathetic nervous system lit up. This wasn't the first time he fell into the devil's portal, but it was the first time someone went with him. He didn't know what to expect. He was unprepared. He was scared. He was getting too worked up. Egon took a moment to breathe.

He set the clock back on the nightstand and pushed the covers off himself. His room was a safe zone; he couldn't be hurt here. At least he hadn't before. He can’t stay here forever though, he's tried that. There was only one way out of this nightmare: to go through it. 

He stood in front of his bedroom door, anticipating what could be on the other side. Sometimes it was his home back in Ohio where his father would berate him, or he'd watch his mother turn to dust. Sometimes both. Another time he was stuck in free fall. One time, in war. What had _it_ meant by taking a closer look? He felt a sickening curiosity draw his hand to the knob.

He cracked the door open. Peering out, he could see that across from his room was Peter’s door. To his right was the bathroom and to his left was the living room along with the rest of the apartment. It looked normal enough. So much that he wondered if he wasn’t dreaming. Stepping out washed the doubt from his mind, his door had slammed shut behind him. The knob vanished effectively locking his room away.

Moonlight filtered in through the yellowed, track blinds. It glinted off the cans on the coffee table. Beer cans and books. This was a familiar scene. Egon turned back to the closed bathroom door. 

Underneath it, the hall carpet was damp. He didn’t bother knocking. 

Peter was sitting on the edge of the flooded bathtub. He was looking down at his left arm, a straight razor in the other. 

" _No!_ " Egon rushed towards him. He grabbed Peter's vulnerable wrist and gasped, "This isn’t real."

Peter placed a hand on Egon’s waist; clenching the fabric of Egon’s tee shirt and holding him steady between his legs and pulled him close. He looked up to meet Egon’s gaze- a dreadfully slow movement, full of reluctance or maybe shame. 

No. His eyes were wrong. His face was _wrong_. His features were in flux until they settled on something _horrifying_. Peter’s face had twisted into a mad smile, baring his teeth. Blue eyes rimmed in the yellow light. 

Egon lifted the hand off of his waist and held it in his own and squeezed it. It was an intimate gesture. For once, the touch didn’t feel like acid. He choked, "It's not real." 

Peter’s grin grew wider, an act only possible due to the warped physics in this strange world. Was this truly Peter or just his madness? Were they the same? Had Egon misplaced his trust in his roommate? It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. Peter’s hand still held the straight razor that he had plunged into Egon’s stomach. 

Egon hoped they were different- that he was wrong- as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and poured out from his lips. His knees buckled and he collapsed into Peter; forcing them both into the tub. The water stung in his nose and eyes. He kept sinking further down into the impossible depth. Would he drown or bleed out first? 

Somehow, he could still see in the red-stained water. Peter's face was in flux again. It briefly stopped on something like terror before it bent back into rage. He lunged at Egon as they were consumed in darkness.


End file.
